The motel room was illuminated by a police cruiser. The flashing lights were eerie in the rain. An athletic, middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform stepped out of the sedan. There was a second person in the back of the cruiser.

“You the manager?” he asked Kraygen.

“Yeah?” asked Kraygen nervously.

The stranger carefully held out his police I.D. “Office Tageret. I’m transporting a convict. The law grants you the right to decline us service – but the roads are flooded and I could use a room.”